


спокойной ночи

by circuit_breaker



Category: Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Duncan makes an appearance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuit_breaker/pseuds/circuit_breaker





	спокойной ночи

”You look exhausted, my friend.”

 

I do not need Racter to state out an obvious fact. I have seen myself in the mirror: darkened circles around my eyes, a worn-out face, a slumped posture.

“Those nightmares are keeping me awake”, I admit, although I feel a bit embarrassed. Children are afraid of dreams. I’m an adult, _and_ a professional shadowrunner, no less. However, there is no point in trying to lie. Everyone knows of the nightmares around here.

Racter tilts his head, and he hums in thought.

“Figured as much. Those dreams are positively graphical, so your insomnia is understandable. _However_ ”, Racter emphasizes the last word. “I’m afraid that you will break up if you continue like this. You will need to sleep.”

I sigh.

“It’s easier said than done. I’m not staying awake by choice”, I say. “Or – would you have any suggestions?”

It was a rhetorical question, a challenge. I do not expect him to give me an answer.

Yet, he looks at me with a calculating, piercing gaze.

“Why”, Racter says. “You could sleep _here_.”

It takes me a moment to register his words.

“Racter… No offence, but how could sleeping _here_ help me at all? There’s always this humming of the machines going on; besides, you have reminded me a good deal that this place is far from safe”, I reply, skeptical.

“Oh, this workshop is dangerous, indeed. Very much lethal – but, only if you touch my property without permission. As for the humming… You get used to it”, Racter says and shrugs. “I see that there are also other things confusing you, though. You know that I value my peace and solitude. Moreover, how could something as simple as changing one’s sleeping spot help? _Well_. I’m prepared to compromise for the sake of our upcoming missions. You aren’t fit to lead us in a state like that. Then…” He takes a pause, and his toothy smile becomes wider, more wicked. “… What if I told you that I’ve never had those dreams?”

I stare at him. He just didn’t say…

“You do not… How?” I manage to ask. Racter takes a long, slow inhale of smoke. I’ve noticed that he likes to tease: to give tiny bits of information, in a painful, frustrating rhythm. Cliffhangers here and there, even in between his speeches.

“Mm, what can I say? These dreams are an intriguing, mysterious phenomenon. Different individuals sharing visions of teeth and endless streets… For some reason, it seems like my workshop is immune to the potential supernatural influence. Granted, it might be possible that I’m the one being immune myself. It’s hard to know without any empirical testing”, Racter replies. “So – what do you say to my proposal?”

 

* * *

 

 

And that is how I find myself making a bed next to his, after I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone else about his secret. He wouldn’t like everyone encroaching his private quarters, after all.

I empty the upper bunk bed and carry its mattress, pillow and blanket downstairs. I also take a couple of books with me, just in case the trick doesn’t work – which I suspect is going to be the case.

Koschei circles the mattress, bewildered. His back is lowered, he creeps, he looks like a cat who is both curious and doubtful. He attempts to test the mattress with one of his limbs, but Racter scolds him.

“He would strike holes through your mattress. More than that, through your sleeping form. Therefore, it’s of utmost importance to provide him with clear restrictions”, Racter explains.

Oh. Well, if that isn’t going to make falling asleep easier for me. I point that out to him, and he only chuckles.

“I can assure you that you do not need to be concerned, my friend”, he says. After that, he eyes the mattress next to his bed. “It seems like everything is ready for resting. Shall we have some tea and then, you can test this arrangement out?”

 

* * *

 

Next morning, I wake up.

I do not remember any dreams. Black, black, everything was peaceful, uneventful black. I cannot even remember when I fell asleep. I was listening to the humming in the background; Koschei’s feet ticking against the metallic floor; Racter tidying his working space – and, at some point, all of it faded, much to my wonder.

There are no holes in me.

That is certainly a bonus.

I sit up without making any sounds. Racter is up, and it seems like he is focusing on some experiment.

Koschei is also there. He is… Concentrated on the same thing as Racter is, something on the floor. Koschei’s front legs are moving in tiny, precise movements. I look a bit more down and notice a frog, squirming and kicking, while the drone is performing a vivisection. I fight the puke pushing its way up my throat. Racter notices that I’m awake.

“Ah, good morning, my friend. Did you sleep well?” he asks, all casual, as though I didn’t just witness him carrying out something disturbing.

“What the _hell_ , Racter?” I ask in return. He cocks his head a bit.

“This? Koschei is practicing exact, refined movements. His goal is to remove every organ without damaging them in the process”, Racter answers. Then, he adds, satisfied: “There goes the liver.”

“Why is the frog _alive_?” I ask while tearing at my hair.

“I sense a tingle of moralistic puritanism oozing there. Usually, I’d find that annoying; on the other hand, it also means that you are feeling more refreshed than yesterday. You aren’t still completely recovered, though. You would’ve figured the reason otherwise already”, Racter says. “Ah, the stomach. A successful removal.”

“Racter…”

“Oh, right. The frog is alive because Koschei is practicing working on living targets.”

“Why is he practicing on living targets?” I press.

“Killing or sedating the target might cause undesired effects on the visceral. I want them out pure and whole”, he answers. “Before you ask further questions, I may provide you with a more detailed explanation. You see, even though cybernetics are used as replacements more and more, there are still individuals desiring biological parts. They are willing to pay a good price for them. So, it occurred to me that it would make a fine business–“

“No, no. Racter, fuck, just – _no_ ”, I cut in. The mere thought churns my insides. Koschei continues picking intestines out of the frog which has fallen unconscious by now. Its muscles are still twitching in horrifying, quick movements.

“Why not? Your sense of morals is a puzzling one. As I’ve emphasized before: You and I, we are professional killers. We get our pay for murdering others. Why is it more ethical to kill our targets and throw their remains away? – when we could save the lives of many?” Racter questions.

“You speak as though you were going to do a charity”, I reply.

“Results overpower motivations”, he simply counters. “ _Now_. Unless you want to irritate me, I’d advise you to get up and focus on your own tasks of the day. We’ll see later when you are once again feeling tired.”

 

* * *

 

I was sure that I’d never enter his chambers again. Perhaps it had been a mere coincidence that I had gotten a peaceful night while sleeping there. And so, I tried sleeping on my own bed first.

It didn’t take long for the teeth to bite far too deep into my skin.

That is why I’m once more here, defeated, chatting with Racter while sipping some tea. Then, I lie down; and I fall sleep.

 

* * *

 

Much to my mixed chagrin and relief, his theory seems to be correct. Whenever I rest in his shady little corner, I pass the nights without having any dreams. Apparently, this place is enough of a Hell as it is; there’s not enough space for cursed nightmares. I end up sleeping there whenever there’s a pause to rest; and Racter doesn’t seem to mind, even if we sometimes have our disputes.

I feel more refreshed, but somewhat more disturbed, as well.

There’s one morning when I wake up, only to see Koschei staring at me. His many red lights are far too close for my comfort. He doesn’t ever step onto the mattress with his limbs, but he can push his head above it.

There’s another morning when Racter has cut himself by accident. There’s a clean, fresh wound running along the palm of his hand. He takes off his glove and licks the wound, indifferent of the pain. He seems almost bored.

 

There is an evening when he taps his fingers against a desk. When I ask him what he is doing, he replies:

"I'm testing out a simple neurological instrument. Whenever I tap one finger, I hear a sound, specified by me. Did you know that our brains are capable of producing most intriguing, unnatural sounds?"

 

There are afternoons when he continues dissecting different creatures.

 

There is an afternoon when he asks in a jovial manner:

“Do you think that it would be inconsiderate of me to perform a vivisection on a rat? Considering that we have a Rat Shaman on our team.”

I tell him to turn his attention elsewhere, and he shrugs.

 

There are nights when he is adding more parts to Koschei.

There are nights when he is adding more parts to himself.

 

However, there is never a time when he would be sleeping. In fact, I haven’t caught him using his bed, ever, even though it is there, in his room. That is the most disturbing detail: it’s as if he didn’t ever sleep.

 

* * *

 

I’m once again about to go downstairs. However, Duncan blocks my way. He comes out of the basement, and he seems angry. He greets me in a mutter, but he doesn’t stop to chat for more than that; and soon, he has disappeared behind the door of his room.

I frown and make a note to see him later.

I step down. Racter is kneeling and picking up a couple of wires up from the floor. I notice that there are a lot of items here and there. There are glass shards in the middle of the mess.

Koschei seems also more agitated than usual.

“What happened?” I ask. Racter looks over his shoulder at me. He gives me his usual smile, but I can sense that he is tense.

“Your brother paid a visit”, he says.

“… Why?”

I bow down to pick up a hammer.

“To talk about you. He was concerned because you have been sleeping down here lately”, Racter replies. He places a bottle onto a table. “He demanded to know the nature of our relationship, to put it simply.”

The hammer drops from my hand. Koschei’s blades are screeching against the metal.

“He did”, I say in a deep inhale. I make a mental note to have a thorough talk with Duncan. I do not appreciate him meddling with my private matters; however, I have only myself to blame, first and foremost. I should’ve informed him better of my actions.

“What did you say?” I ask, weary, awkward.

“I told him to mind his own business. I was in the middle of working when he came, and I didn’t have a good time to stop for an obtuse conversation.”

The flow of events pours into my mind.

“And he threw a table over?” I guess.

“Yes. After that, I showed him the mattress next to my bed. Fortunately, that was enough evidence for him that we haven’t been engaging in sexual intercourse.”

“I have a feeling that he wanted to know _why_ I sleep here, though.”

“Yes, he did”, Racter says. “I simply told him that you feel seasick on the upper level. Which is not a complete lie, now that I think about it.”

I nod in thought. The awkward sensation fades a bit, and I continue to help Racter with gathering the scattered objects.

“That sounds reasonable. I’ll just have to remember that if he ever asks me”, I reply. There’s a plastic bottle on the floor, and I take it into my hand. I’m about to put it onto the desk, but that’s when I notice the text on its side:

 

_Sleepium. Medication for insomnia caused by nightmares. Provides refreshing, dreamless nights._

 

Racter notices that something is wrong.

“Hmmm. What do you have in mind–“ he is about to ask, but he sees the bottle before he finishes. “ _Oh_.”

And that is how I learn that Racter has been drugging me. Several times. Which answers my ponderings on why he insists on having tea so often. I do not know whether I should be angry or not.

“Well, you cannot insist that anything bad happened. In fact, you have enjoyed only positive health benefits. You have been alert on our missions, and thus, your risks of a miserable demise have been lowered”, he says.

“Why didn’t you just offer me that bottle and let me sleep upstairs?” I ask.

“That wouldn’t have been a safe course of action, my friend. Sleeping pills are effective at keeping one asleep, but they also leave one vulnerable. You wouldn’t have been able to wake up if there had been an emergency. Therefore, you needed someone to look after you. Besides, I wasn’t sure whether you’d agree to taking such medication.”

I give out a deep sigh.

“Fine. I won’t be angry with you”, I give in. It doesn’t take long for a question to pop into my head, though: “Wait. Since this place _isn’t_ free of those nightmares, it would also mean that you _do_ get them, just like the others. Would you tell me what kind of dreams you have seen?”

Racter looks at his surroundings, calculating.

“There’s a lot of organizing to do. That means that I have time for some story-telling – given that you keep your hands off my property”, he replies, and I place a wrench back down. He nods in appreciation.

“I’ve actually seen only one type of a dream lately”, he starts. “I’m in the Walled City, but the surroundings are somehow strange, unfamiliar. I cannot see Koschei anywhere, so I search for him. Eventually, I see his shadow on the wall of a building, and I go after it; but the shadow keeps on moving away from me, until it creeps next to a hole in the wall and disappears inside.

“I continue following. The hole is round, and a soft, pleasant light pours from inside of it. I’m met with a thin layer of fine fabric: curtains, which I need to pass through in order to advance deeper into the hole. I notice a silhouette behind many layers of these curtains.”

“Is it Koschei?” I suggest. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s not him. From what I can tell, the silhouette belongs to a lady who is walking away from me. The sight makes me curious. I pass past many layers of silky curtains and try to get to her. However, I never seem to get closer to her. The light dims, slowly, deceptively; my dream persona fails to notice how the curtains become heavier and dustier the further I go. The lady stops. There’s only one layer of fabric between us. I sweep it out of the way. And at that instant, _everything turns completely dark_ ; teeth, countless sharp, piercing rows, sink into my flesh from everywhere and tear me into little pieces. After that, there’s complete silence, numbness, nothing.”

The mind-image makes me feel cold inside.

“That sounds terrible”, I say.

“Oh, you do not need to worry about me. I think that the dream is only interesting”, Racter replies. “There is something fascinating about a realistic simulation of being torn apart.”

I shake my head but refrain from commenting. To each their own, I guess.

“I intended to sleep here originally. I suppose that we could continue as we have thus far – assuming that you are okay with it?”, I ask. “I could prepare us some tea while you continue cleaning.”

And that’s what we do.

 

* * *

 

 

… I must admit that I feel guilty – _almost_.

I lie in my bed and open my eyes. I glance at a sleeping figure resting next to my mattress.

Racter may be a sly bastard, but not even he was safe from my slight deception. Last night, I made the tea; and I gave _him_ the mug with the sleeping drugs included.

So, now, I look at the evidence of my satisfying revenge. I startle, though, when Koschei’s multiple eyes meet with mine. He has jumped onto the bed, and seems to be resting on Racter’s legs. The drone watches me with an intensive glare, but he doesn’t make any moves when I stand up.

I can see Racter’s face from this angle.

His expression is… Neutral. It feels weird seeing him without his usual smile, but what did I expect? In the end, he is only a human. His breathing flows in and out in a calm rhythm. Somewhere, his heart beats, spreading blood to everywhere in his upper body.

I notice that there are holes in his bed. Koschei’s restrictions do not include Racter’s bed, apparently, and that thought makes my lips curl upwards.

I turn away and advance for my room upstairs. Even though I’m more amused than remorseful of my trick, I have a feeling that I owe him a decent breakfast.


End file.
